Turning Page
by hailglimmer
Summary: She thought she had buried them, had cut loose with her past; and yet, her old demons are still here, cowering in the shadow. It would not take much to have them arise. / HINTS ON SEASON 6 / translation from Aalana's story 'Tourner la Page'


**TOURNER LA PAGE / TURNING PAGE**

Hello everyone. So this story is a translation from the French version created and written by Aalana. I do not take credits for any of the content of this story, only for the translation. If there are any mistakes, they are mine. And please forgive me if there are any, I am not fluent (yet) so it is not impossible.

You can find the original story in French here: s/10657022/1/Tourner-La-Page

So I would like to thanks Aalana for letting me translate this story and giving something to do wih my life apart from watching series.

'You know, when I was young, my dad loved going to the year-end show, in kindergarten or in primary school. All this fuss, this eagerness the kids felt when thinking about exhibiting their amazing performance to their family filled him with joy; he thought it to be so cute and lovely… But after my mother's death, he refused to go for the next few years. For my part, I was too old to be part of the Christmas Choir or the annual year-end show but I know that my brothers were very disappointed that their father did not come to support them and their work. And it pains me so much that my brothers and I were apart among the years; I should have stayed in touch with them, I should always be there for them…'

Lain on the couch, head on her fiancé's lap, Teresa was talking. She had not confided in anyone in years, and it was doing her real good. She was soliloquizing about her fears, her distress, her joys, her disappointments. But above all else, she managed to talk about her father, and of her life's darkest time, after her mother's death.

And Patrick was listening to her attentively. He knew what this young woman had been through and he was delighted to offer her some rest by letting her open up, letting her get rid of all these negative thoughts and dark ideas which were obstructing her memory. She was his lifeline, his oxygen, he thought he knew her by heart, before she started confiding in him all of those things. He suffers with her when she tells him about her teenage years. He hurts so much… He would have so wanted her no to have gone through all this… But if she had not, would he have met her?

He did no imagine it. He did not imagine his life without her.

Jane was about to talk to her, to tell her that it would do her good to be back in touch with her family, when he noticed that her eyes were closed, and her breathing calm and steady.

He stared at her closely, a smile on his lips, trying to count each and every freckle on her creamy and peaceful face.

He lifted her up, took her in their room and rested her on their bed.

She was so beautiful when she was asleep…

'Lisbon, I need you and Jane is in the interrogation room! Nathan Davis has arrived, he is ready to cooperate and to do whatever it will take to find his brother's murderer. He has already got a police record: driving while intoxicated and manslaughter. He is about 30 years old. However, since his last arrest, guy has not been drinking a single drop of alcohol and he has been giving half of his wages to charities.'

Teresa shivered. No, it could only be a coincidence, a namesake.

She had seen Jane looking at her after Kim's speech; thus, he looked at her again to hearten her before going into the interrogation room.

'Good morning Mr Davis, I'm agent Teresa Lisbon and this is –'

Her voice broke.

This face, this hair, this forehead, these eyes, this nose, this mouth… No, it could not be. And yet it could. It was really him. Although many years had flowed, his features were still the same.

His mother's murderer was seated in front of her, a cup of coffee in his hands.

She tried to regain composure, in spite of the shaking mobbing her whole body and her watering eyes.

'And this is Patrick Jane, who is consulting. Before we start talking about your brother, I would like to review your file. Do you accept?'

The man nodded, while Patrick was looking at her in a strange way: what was she doing? They were here to find the murderer of a father, not to overwhelm his grieving brother with errors he might have done in his past.

'You were born on September 29th 1970 in Detroit, MI?

'Yes, I was.'

'You spent your whole childhood in Chicago, IL?

'Yes, I did. Listen, why are you asking me all of those questions? I don't get it, my brother has just been killed, shouldn't we –'

'Just answer my question Mr Davis' said Lisbon, in a menacing tone 'You moved to Florida after your condemnation for manslaughter?'

'Yes that's right' answered Nathan Davis, astonished by agent Lisbon's coldness and calm.

However, he was sweating, he as in trouble; it was clear that this event had upset him in the deepest part of his being.

'Can you tell what happened?'

'Teresa, why are asking –' started Jane, whom Lisbon stopped with a raised hand.

'I know what I'm doing Jane, let me handle this. Mr Davis, would you mind answering my question please?'

He doubted, looking for his words, and then started his story:

'I was going out of the Christmas Ball of my high school and I had drunk, too much. I should not have driven. And yet I did. I drove and it was the biggest mistake of my life. I was almost arrived at my house; I was tired so I went over speed limit. The road was deserted; I never thought this car would appear at the turn…

'Suddenly I sobered. The driver was severely injured, so I called 911. She unfortunately died a week later. I was sentenced to jail, I purged my sentence. Since then, I'm totally sober.'

Teresa closed her eyes, flooded by a whirlpool of feelings.

If only he knew. If only he knew the woman he killed was the woman who gave birth to her, who woke her up and cooker her breakfast every morning. The loving, happy woman, cherishing her and her brothers. The woman who died in a car crash.

Casting a glower toward the man, the murderer, she spat at him words she had buried in her for far too long, words that had her suffering:

'The woman you killed was my mother you bastard'

Tears were streaming freely now.

Suddenly, she stormed out of the room, glowering one last time at Nathan Davis.

Teresa whispered a broad apology to Dennis Abbot, her boss, who sat in the event.

'Lisbon, go back home and rest. You'll understand that I can't have you working on this case anymore, given your relationship with the victim's brother.'

'No, no, I'm sorry, so sorry to have raved like this, I didn't mean… I don't know what got into to me I…' she stammered, lost, lost in her memories and her pain 'I want to keep going with the investigation, I don't want any day off, I don't need it –'

'Lisbon, go home. It's an order'

She nodded against her will, and headed toward the door.

'Lisbon!'

Abbott was biting his lips in an awkward manner. 

'I'm really sorry about your mother.'

'Hey Teresa'

'Hey Patrick'

Patrick Jane came home after having a long day to work, or rather to think about his fiancée. His Teresa.

She had told him about her mother a lot, but always when she was alive. She had told him about her smile, the way she had way too briefly brought her brothers and her up, but not once had she talked about her death or the accident.

It had been strange for him, to see her so straight and proud in her seat trying to stay strong, not to cry in front of this man who had crushed her life.

Because Patrick had understood way before Nathan Davis that he was the kill of Mary Lisbon.

He got these thoughts in a corner of his head. For now, he had to be there for Teresa; hence he sat next to her on the couch on which she was overspread.

'Are you holding up?'

'No, not really'

'Do you want to talk about it?'

'I don't know. I don't know if I can, if I'll manage'

'Take your time Reese'

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a few seconds and started with a hoarse voice:

'I was 12 Patrick. I was taking dance and swimming classes. Lucas, the youngest of the family, was 6 months. 6 fucking months. He was meant to be able to grow up with his parents, just like each of us. But he didn't. No. Instead, I grew up with brothers scared by their drunken and violent father, those brothers I had to bring up as if I was the mother they lost. I was 12 Patrick, and it was Christmas Day.

'I was sick and there was no more medicine at home. So my mom decided to go and look for an open drugstore while my father was watching over me. She was meant to come back before midnight, so we could open the presents altogether. Around 1 a.m., we started to worry and we called the police. They quickly called us back and told us that my mom had had an accident and that she had been transferred to the hospital. A week later, she… She was dead.

'I miss her so much. I wish she had stayed at home that night. I would give everything just to change this tiny detail. If she hadn't driven that night, simply to heal me, my brothers and I wouldn't have lived this. My father would have been the same man he had always been; Lucas would have had the presence of a mother by his side. You know, the first word he said was "mom" because he didn't understand why it wasn't her anymore who bordered him at night.

'I am so, so angry against this man! Angry with a deaf, unexplainable, omnipresent rage. And yet, I know I have to move on. I know I have to take care of my present, instead of turning over the past. But the hardships we've lived make us what we are today. And I'm proud of what I am today, I'm proud of what I've done. And this, nothing or anyone could ever take that away from me. However, there's one thing I'd like to do.'

She grabbed her mobile phone, and dialled Tommy's phone number.  
>Yes, it is time to get back in touch, she thought looking tenderly at her companion.<p>

He smiled to her, telling her with eyes what could not be said with words.


End file.
